


Secret Persona

by congotsja



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Family, Family Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-18
Updated: 2010-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/congotsja/pseuds/congotsja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edmund contemplates what is good about his life while having a mental breakdown. Set during "The Golden Age".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Persona

**Author's Note:**

  * For [illusemywords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illusemywords/gifts).



**Secret Persona**

Edmund sighed and carefully ran a hand through his coal black hair. Utter hatred filled every inch of his body, enveloping him with a strange bitterness inside. It suddenly consumed him, as it had threatened too for years. It had endangered overriding his weak nature plenty of times before but he had always been prepared, always ready to battle the emotion when it started to overwhelm him. But this time, his strength gave out and he allowed the darkness to devour him.

A strangled moan escaped his tightly clenched lips, prominent in the noiseless hours of darkness. His voice was full of abhorrence, self-hatred and pitiable. His eyes were bleak, desperately searching for something. He had to search, to find something worth living for but he knew, without a doubt, that there was nothing to live for. He was a nonentity; there was nothing special about him. King Edmund the Insignificant, which, he thought sadly, is what they should have named me.

He heard a worried squeal and, for the first time that night, it hadn't been developed from his obdurate mouth. A painful gasp made his eyes open quickly and he stared up at his beautiful sister who had come to save him and was kneeling over his body, keenly surveying his limp stature. Her face was pale, though not as pallid as his possessed features and her blue eyes were anxious. There was apprehension in them and it comforted him to realise the worry was for him.

Her long, brown hair ran down her shoulders and freckles were scattered indiscriminantly across her face. Her voice was whispering softly in his ear, telling him to get up. The tone was urgent, helpless even, but Edmund couldn't bring himself to fret. He couldn't hear what she was saying and assumed the worst. She was shouting at him in her own way, having a fuming dispute against him which she knew he could never win as he lay stationary on the gravelly floor. Anger refused to leave his body, making his mind twisted. His sister was being crueller than she had ever been before and he was powerless to stop it. 

"Stop," he whimpered impercebtibly, pain entering his feeble voice. "Susan, stop." The name had appeared off his lips without his notice. He had been so used to crying that name with horrid passions and dumb thoughts running in the back of his mind. He could barely remember why he had been angry at her; it was only  _him_ that caused pain. He admitted it in his head; he was the origin of the pain that had just occupied his wilted figure. He was the devil, the person who caused all the bad things in the world, hate, depression, anger, all those appalling effects were because of him and his reckless stupidity.

He could hear his sibling's voice now, kind and sweet yet firm, gentle was a brilliant description of his elder sister. She was sobbing now; he could see it leaking out of her ocean blue eyes. She was crying, over him. It stunned his bruised personality, made him rethink the way he thought about people's impressions of him. He needed comfort, something that had been denied him all his young life.

He thought he had found salvation when he had been freed by his brother from the cruel woman's camp. He had been beaten, starved, wounded and basically forced into slavery, all thanks to the beautiful woman and his innocent trusting nature and detestation of other people. He returned to the camp a dejected soldier, forced into going back to a life he both loathed and respected.

He had been ashamed when he had finally seen his brother and sisters, all unthinkingly accepting him back, allowing him into their family circle. He hesitantly managed to speak to them and was shocked to find his younger sister clutching at his knees. Secretly he craved to hold her again, longed to feel something which he thought he had lost. On the other hand he was afraid, scared that he might lose his dear sister if he touched her, ruining the perfect dream. As he finally patted her on the back, relief washed his face, she didn't disappear. Instead she held onto him, refusing to let him go, as if the whole world depended on it.

Edmund had grinned down at the little light brown head, his bleeding lip protuding in the silent dawning day. Even as he tried to push her away, she didn't care, and clenched his knees tightly. He had shrugged and lifted up his head to stare at his elder siblings, both of whom were watching the tender family moment, not wishing to interfere. The urge to resist throwing an embrace on the young boy was hard, almost impossible, but they held on a little longer for the little girl's sake. No one had missed him more than she. 

At last, not capable to defy the urge that was being thrown at her, the girl with long brown hair stepped up, her arms had been outstretched. The young boy with the pitch black hair would have jumped into them straight away, if not for the small girl who still clutched desperately at his knees. The tall girl carefully placed her arms around the young boy, making him grimace with pain as her smooth, warm skin made contact with his icy, bruised, scarred arms. She let go as soon as she saw the pain concealed in his face, though he couldn't hide the soreness in his stunning hazel eyes.

The jet-black haired boy then eyed the blonde haired boy, who was watching them expressionlessly. He subtly gestured for the boy to join in the embrace, praying for the first proper family love moment between the two. The other boy's jaw clenched and he ignored the motion, standing stonily on the grass in front of the three younger children. The young boy stared at him, anger throbbing in his chocolate orbs. He violently shoved the little girl off his waist and pushed the elder girl to the side. They both stared at him, shock evident in their eyes.

He could not remember why he had shoved them away only that it had stung to let them go. He had ruined the family moment for bitterness had overthrown him, the same cruelness that his elder brother had shown him. The rejection hurt and it hadn't been his fault. The resentment had appeared from the loss of his elder brother.

He did everything for the blonde haired boy. He had played with him, made jokes, tried to help him in every possible situation and even done whatever was asked of him without question. As time went on, the two of them became close friends and learned to communicate in a subtle but friendly way.

The first time the blonde haired boy had first shown any true protection for him was when he was being demanded for. He was a traitor and it was his destiny to die on the Stone Table. The White Witch had been close to taking him without Aslan, the creator of all things, until his elder brother interrupted. Drawing out the sword which he had always had around with him ever since his slaying of a beastly wolf, he aimed it straight at the Witch, ready to kill her if the need came. She had laughed at him, but it was the first time the elder boy had shown some true compassion for his younger brother and that touched his soul.

Later on, the handsome elder boy had become closer to his younger brother, learning to trust his judgements and understanding what he had gone through, though he only learnt when the younger boy had to tell someone. After Aslan had died instead of his younger brother, he had felt lost, incomplete, and decided that as a consequence he couldn't lead the army.

"Aslan believed you could," the younger brother had said, making him feel slightly more hopeful. But it was the next words he produced which made him certain that he could do anything. "And so do I." The younger boy had given him hope, a feeling he thought he'd never have. He had earned the first of many new qualities from the black haired boy. He had shown belief and roused his confidence. For the first time that day, he had finally found some hope. That hope had been given to him by his younger brother. Confidence was a skill and Ed had given it to him freely. Without Edmund he didn't know how he would survive. It had been hard to resist the offer the younger boy had given him when the embrace had happened the previous day. But he had been so thrilled to see the younger boy, weak and ill though he was, alive and not killed, that he could barely move from where he stood.

Edmund felt the pain in his body weakening. Whatever he was doing, he was lessening the soreness that he felt. Susan had disappeared, though he didn't know where to. He hadn't even noticed her careful departure. There was a steady drip bouncing off the castle's floors and it forced horrid memories into his mind, reminisces that he'd much rather forget. He closed his eyes and searched for some more positive thoughts; happier memoirs.

It had been cold that day. He had been standing on a cliff top, sword in hand, his noble friend Mr Beaver by his side, ready to defend Narnia. Peter had placed him in charge of the archers, concerned for Edmund's safety, though the young boy had been ready to argue with him, not wanting to miss all the action. However, the tedious look on the other boy's face made him quieten, and at last he gave in. Peter shouldn't need to worry about him; it would add more pressure to his already concerned face.

The battle had begun quickly, though Edmund could remember barely any of it. He only remembered racing down the cliff, ready to attack the battle field, when Peter had shouted over to him. "Ed!" He had cried and that had caused Ed to be momentarily distracted. It was a lucky thing that the younger boy had not been in the middle of a fight; otherwise he would have surely lost. "There's too many of them! Grab the girls and go home!"

Edmund had been powerless to do anything then. He hadn't wanted to hurt his brother's heart by disobeying him. The friendship they had built up would be shattered as soon as he didn't follow his command and he knew he wouldn't be able to live with that. Mr Beaver grabbed his hand and together they started to depart, ready to find his sisters. As the boy took one last look back through his lashes, he noticed the beautiful witch, enchanting his blonde haired brother without the elder boy realising. Every few seconds he would linger closer, though not realising where he was heading towards.

Edmund had watched this with his observant coffee eyes. His mind was shouting "NO!" but his heart was telling him to run. Peter could handle it. The younger boy had never really listened to his heart before and that was why he dropped the Beavers paw and rushed back into the battle. The Beaver complained but he didn't care. The best reply he could come up with was; "Peter's not King yet!" and then he rushed up the hill, getting ready to leap off a cliff.

He violently jumped off the cliff but didn't give a moments notice to the strange pain that had seized him. Grabbing his sword, he smashed it down onto the beautiful woman's wand. It felt good, revenge suited him. His glory was short-lived, for before he could contemplate anything, something jarred into his side. He let out a painful gasp and fell to his knees. The Witch had stabbed him.

He heard his brother's voice calling his name, but he was too busy trying to breathe. It didn't matter when he heard a mighty roar, nor did it matter when he saw the Witch being attacked by Aslan. The only thing that mattered was that his brother was safe. There was a sound like an arrow being shot and Edmund thought of his elder sister, warily. It had been increasingly difficult to think when he had just been fatally wounded.

Lucy had knelt beside him first, her hands clutching a golden cup. He had stared at it, wondering what lay inside. Then Susan appeared and softly started to stroke his dark hair. That comforted him and the breathing became easier. It was when Peter appeared that his breath started to smooth considerably. The sweet little girl poured a drop of red liquid into his mouth, which he had later learned to be the Elixir of the Fire Flower, and his body had shut down.

Imagine his brother and sister's surprise when they heard a mighty gasp and a strangely alluring boy trying to sit up. They had all cheered inwardly and rushed in to hug him. "When are you ever going to learn to do as you're told?" Peter joked and Edmund's spirits lifted.

That was how he could survive this sudden burst of anger. He just had to think of the opposite of devastation and the madness that seized him. It was so simple really. He shouldn't be alone. He needed his family there to comfort him. The only thing better than having a breakdown, he thought cheerily to himself, is exactly the opposite.

Susan returned, Lucy and Peter in tow. Edmund's breathing had slowed and his anger had nearly evaporated. "What's wrong, Ed?" Lucy asked compassion in her tone.

"I'm fine," He replied, a laugh escaping his fully open lips. "Thanks for worrying about me."

"What  _happened_ , Ed?" Peter asked, staring at his younger brother oddly.

"Nothing," Edmund replied. "I just learnt a lesson." That was true in it self. He  _had_ learnt a lesson. He had found out that to survive the madness that claimed him, he would just have to fight with the opposite. He needed to learn how to love.

And with his family, he had all the love he needed.


End file.
